


As God Is My Witness

by annamatopia



Category: Lucifer (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Episode: Take Me Back to Hell, Gen, Spoilers, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 20:42:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6722623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annamatopia/pseuds/annamatopia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What Dr. Linda Martin needs is a goddamn therapist for therapists.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As God Is My Witness

**Author's Note:**

> Minor spoilers for s1e13, Take Me Back To Hell. //I have emerged from my cocoon of fic-stalking to finally contribute to the community. Probably there will be a lot of Lucifer fic in my future.

When Lucifer and his brother--goddammit!--leave her office, Linda kicks off her heels, pours and then knocks back half a glass of the scotch she keeps in her desk, and lies down on the couch for a good forty-five minutes. She thinks about getting up, thinks better of it, and instead uses her umbrella to snag her phone from the table without getting up.

She doesn’t know who to call. Her stitch-and-bitch group doesn’t meet up until Thursday, and she’s pretty sure they’re not equipped to handle the shit that just went down. And her other option, Doctor Canaan, is fifty percent of the problem. She suspects he isn’t actually a doctor, and in fact Doctor Canaan may not even be his real name. What a clusterfuck.

What she needs is a goddamn therapist for therapists.

Actually, what she needs is someone with zero connection to Lucifer and his brother but who can sufficiently wrap their mind around the metaphors Lucifer likes to use.

Which brings her to the office of Dr. Charles “call me Chuck” Shurley, whose practice is three floors up in the same building. Linda doesn’t think too hard about the convenience.

Straight off, the moment their session begins, Linda says, “I need your absolute guarantee that you don’t have any hidden siblings who are going to pop out and scare the hell out of me. And also proof that you’re an actual licensed doctor.”

Doctor Shirley shifts uncomfortably. She stares unrelentingly. He coughs once and waves a hand at the wall behind his desk. “Well, er, I’ve got the certificates and degrees and stuff.” She continues her best _I know you’re hiding something and I’m going to find out what it is_ glare until he adds, “And I’ve just got a sister. She’s out of the picture.”

Linda nods sharply and leans back into the couch. She begins, slowly and carefully, “I suppose you know I’m a therapist myself. I was referred to your office by _my_ office when I expressed my difficulties with some recent patients. Well, more like one patient. And his brother.”

Chuck nods.

“So our working relationship, with this patient, started out _really unethical_ , but at the time he wasn’t a paying patient, and he was completely irresistable...” Linda gets a little starry-eyed. The sex had been pretty damn good. “We had an arrangement, right? Eventually it got to be weird and I told him I wouldn’t sleep with him anymore, but I was still okay with treating him.”

Linda gets the impression that if Chuck had been drinking coffee, she would be wearing it right now. An expression of extreme discomfort flashes over his face before he schools his features. “Okay, so you slept with your patient. Is this the issue?” he asks.

“Oh, fuck no. He just. Insisted on working through the ridiculous metaphor that he’s actually Lucifer, as in the _literal devil_ , and you know what, I’m willing to work within whatever element makes my patients most comfortable and willing to open up about their issues.” Linda props her feet up on the coffee table in front of her and desperately wishes she had a cigarette or clicky pen or something else to occupy her hands. Maybe one of those stress balls. She can pretend it’s Lucifer’s head. “But it got a little too much for me and I began to feel frustrated when I felt like I wasn’t getting through to him.” 

She lets her head fall onto the back of the couch. Jesus, that had been a hard one. And it turns out that “really good biblical advice” from Doctor Canaan had just been a load of bullshit to piss his brother off. A goddamn shitstorm, and she has fallen right into it.

“So.” Chuck clears his throat. “I’m guessing there’s a reason you asked about me about any siblings?”

Linda groans. “Long story short, new therapist across the hall, says he’s having trouble with patients and wants to talk about it, offers to listen to me if I have anything I need to ‘get off my chest’.” She does the finger quotes. “I spill the beans about Lucifer because he’s being a pain in my ass and I don’t know what to do, hot new doctor gives me advice, and it totally fucks Lucifer over. He punched a hole in my wall!”

She stops and realizes she’s been breathing heavily, takes a moment to collect herself. “And then I walk into this doctor’s office and find _Lucifer_ in there, and I accuse him of stealing my patient, only to find out they’re brothers!” 

Chuck’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline.

Okay, maybe raising her voice was a little unnecessary. 

“I don’t even know why I listened to that--that _imposter_ at all! I should’ve known he wasn’t an actual doctor,” she fumes. She’s going to be bitter about the destruction of her potential blooming friendship until the end of time, no matter how much her inner therapist tells her to let it go.

“Um--”

“Oh, I’m not done!” Linda plows over anything he might’ve had to say. He’s here to listen to her, and she is going to talk her way through the entire hour even if it means he doesn’t get a word in edgewise. “I mean, _god_ , he complained about everything! His partner at the police station wouldn’t have sex with him, so he whined about that. He didn’t have any friends. He had Daddy Issues, oh, and let me tell you,” Linda says, feeling more righteously indignant by the minute, “he was dense as fuck. Every issue we worked through took at least three sessons to sink in, and even then, I’m pretty sure nothing less than divine intervention graced him with the insight needed for even a minor breakthrough.”

Chuck looks vaguely constipated.

Well, she thinks, imagine having to work with Lucifer all the time instead of just hearing about it second-hand. “I’m willing to work within his metaphor, but dammit, sometimes I wish he would just come out with the actual truth. It’s hard enough to figure out the exact underlying issues without him thinking he’s the devil.”

He laughs. Linda thinks he sounds a little nervous. “He certainly sounds like a handful.” He rests his elbows on his knees and rubs a hand over his face. “So do you want, er, advice? Or counseling? Or just to talk about what’s been going on so you can cope with it?”

Linda thinks about it. She’s not sure that she really needs therapy herself--she’s quite self-aware, thank you, and she has plenty of coping mechanisms for when she gets in too deep with patients and needs to balance herself. 

It’s just. She desperately wants a friendly ear who can listen to her ramble without breaking doctor-patient confidentiality, which she is never doing again outside of an official session, and maybe offer some advice when she doesn’t know how to proceed with a patient. Namely, Lucifer.

“I just want to know how to help you best use our time together,” Chuck says.

“Alright, I think I’ve made up my mind.” Linda holds up her hand and counts off each item on her fingers. “First, most days, I think I just need to rant and get everything out. I’m a verbal processor. Second, maybe I’ll need a little advice, I don’t know. If I’m in a tough spot with Lucifer I might ask.” She ticks off her middle finger with a little more force than strictly necessary. “And third, I want some iron-clad NDAs.”


End file.
